


Once Upon a Dream

by themusicofmysoul



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2018-12-04 10:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11553600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themusicofmysoul/pseuds/themusicofmysoul
Summary: Déjà vu.  An all too common phenomenon experienced by all.  Her mother always said it was a good omen of sorts, a sign you have met your soulmate, while her father rolled his eyes at her mother's superstitions.  But what if it is neither fate nor fallacy?  What if it is merely the workings of a bored and long forgotten god?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been absolutely fascinated by the idea of the Dungeon Master being an actual trickster god-like entity. Thanks Critical Role for giving that little seed of an idea some vague inspiration to take root.

Her mother always said that a feeling of déjà vu upon meeting a stranger is the first sign that you’ve met your soulmate.  

“A lucky few are able to be reunited with their soulmates across lifetimes,” her mother would say.  “If you were to ever feel that tug in the back of your mind, hold on and never let go, my dear.  It means that you’ve been granted a second chance with your other half.”

Her father always told her to take her mother’s superstitions with a grain of salt.  It was an amusing quirk at times to outsiders, but those within their little family grew tired of her rantings quickly.  Ever the romantic, however, Cassandra thought the idea to be…charming, in its own way.  She never really took it to heart, but the idea that the love of your immortal soul could find you across lifetimes, defying the will of gods and goddesses alike, had always been a fantasy she cherished.

That is, until that very feeling began to frequently creep up the length of her spine every time she stepped out of her house.

The first time, it had been an old beggar man in the town square.  He had caught her eye as she passed by the small fountain in the center of the square, and a strange nagging sensation tugged at the strings of her mind, a soft whisper insisting, ‘ _We have met somewhere before, haven’t we, my lady?_ ’

It was easy enough to shrug off the sensation.  There were countless old beggars in this town, and she had undoubtedly crossed paths with them all at least a dozen times each.  It would have been an easily forgettable occurrence—she had forgotten it by the time she made it home that night, in fact—if it hadn’t been for that same subtle, but persistent, sensation slithering up and around her skull a few weeks later.

It had been a traveling merchant peddling his handmade wooden carvings on all those who passed.  Cassandra kept her head high and her gaze straight ahead, deciding to try her luck with ignoring the merchant’s shouts to attract customers.

But with no such luck.

“You there, fair maiden,” he called, fluidly stepping in front of her to block her path.  It wasn’t an aggressive move, but enough to make Cassandra feel immediately uneasy.  “Surely a beautiful young woman like yourself would be interested in such delicate little trinkets.”

She immediately looked off to the side, searching for a familiar face to save her from this fate.  A muttered curse left her lips as she realized she was alone in this, a carefully crafted smile immediately forming on her lips while her gaze darted coyly to her feet.  “I’m sorry, sir.  I have no spare money with me today.  All of my coin must be put toward food for the week to come.”

“Oh, but surely you could spare a copper or two for yourself?” the merchant insisted.  “A hard working girl such as yourself deserves a reward once in awhile, hm?”

A long rehearsed, shy laugh slipped past her lips as she allowed her gaze to finally lift to meet his own, and immediately regretted her choice.  A cold, nagging feeling gripped at the base of her neck, holding her still as she was forced to hold the merchant’s bright blue gaze.  That whisper from weeks ago seeped into her mind once more, less gentle than it was before, much more insistent: ‘ _You know me, don’t you, my lady?  Don’t try to resist that tug.  Let it take you, my dear.  Follow it._ ’

“I—” she stuttered, taking a step back from the merchant.  A look of concern crossed his face, his blue eyes wide as his bushy brows rose a fraction.

“Are you alright, miss?  Do you feel faint?”

Cassandra could feel the blood draining from her face as that voice persisted, the claws tugging at her mind digging deeper and deeper until her head ached.  With a sheer force of will, she broke eye contact with the merchant, looking over toward the baker she was to visit.  With a small, nervous laugh, she ran a hand through her hair, her pulse pounding loudly in her ears as she attempted to shake off the fog that had encased her mind.  

“I…I’m so sorry, sir.  It’s been a bit warm lately and I’ve never really dealt well with the heat.”  Another small laugh escaped her, purposely looking everywhere but at the merchant’s face.  “I’ll be sure to keep you in mind should I ever have a spare coin or two on me.  Please, excuse me.”

As she turned on her heel to leave, eager to push the experience into the depths of her memories where it belonged, she heard the merchant call after her.  “Be sure to do that, miss.  Although, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to.  I’m known to leave a rather lasting impression!”

She merely picked up her pace and entered the nearest storefront, leaning against the door once it shut firmly behind her.  This was not an experience that would leave her as easily, and made her way home as soon as her errands for the day were finished.  She nearly told her parents what happened a few times, but each time she tried the words died on her tongue.  Her superstitious mother would blow it out of proportion and probably attempt to have her exorcized, while her much more grounded father would call upon a healer to see if his daughter needed to be committed.

For weeks she ventured out as little as possible, and even then only if her friends or family accompanied her.  With each passing day, she felt her anxiety begin to ebb, her body tensing less and less every time she stepped outside her front door.  For every day that cold feeling of familiarity eluded her when she met a stranger’s gaze on the street, the more confident she felt that the entire experience had been a trick of the mind and a symptom of her upbringing.  Eventually, even that unmistakably vivid encounter faded into the recesses of her mind, and she found herself once again venturing out from the safety of her home without the knot of anxiety weighing her down.

It was this sense of security that led Cassandra to the edge of the forest near her home, enjoying the crispness of the oncoming autumn chill as she walked the quiet, normally deserted, path.

 _Normally_  deserted, being the key phrase.

“Oy, lass,” a gruff voice called, causing Cassandra to jump at its close proximity.  She could have sworn she was the only one on the path just a moment ago and she would have noticed had someone been behind her.  Not to mention the forest had been completely silent her entire stroll, not a single rustle of leaves or crack of branches to indicate someone had been rummaging their way through.  A wave of uneasiness washed over her, but she pushed against it as she turned to find a dwarf hobbling his way over to her, a clear limp in his step and his appearance a bit ragged.  “Ye shouldn’ be wanderin’ near these here woods alone.  A young maid like yerself is bound to find trouble tha’ way.”

Taking a deep, calming breath, she allowed a polite smile to grace her features, warily taking in the dwarf’s haggard form.  “I’m fine, sir, I assure you.  I’ve lived in this area my whole life and know these woods better than most, but I appreciate your concern.”

She inclined her head and attempted to continue on her way, only for the dwarf to call after her once more.  “Aye, but there be terrible creatures encroaching on this here land.  Best heed the warnin’ of a concerned stranger than risk yer neck outta spite, lass.”

A pang of anger sparked in her gut at the stranger’s condescending tone, turning on her heel to face him, only for him to be nearly nose to nose with her—much closer than his voice seemed a moment ago.

Taking an instinctual step back, Cassandra held her head high as she looked into the woods, a peaceful silence still permeating the air.  Her pride wouldn’t allow her to reign in the bite in her voice.  “I heard you, sir, and your warning is noted.  But the forest has whispered no warnings to me, so kindly be on your way.”

A throaty, amused chuckle caused her to finally look back and meet his gaze—only for her eyes to widen as that seemingly long forgotten tug of familiarity seeped back into the forefront of her mind, stumbling back in shock.

The dwarf’s head cocked to the side in confusion, his bushy beard swaying slightly.  “Ye alright, lass?”

Cassandra opened her mouth to respond, but that cold whisper, now sounding much closer, much louder, filled her ears, speaking those three familiar words:

_You know me._

“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice trembling as she fought back against those cold, clammy claws gripping at the base of her skull.  “What the hell do you want with me?”

The dwarf’s brow rose slightly, a flash of intrigue gleaming in his eyes that was gone almost as soon as it appeared, concern then lacing his features as he took a step forward—only for her to take a step back.

“I mean ye no harm.” His voice was soft as he held out his hand.  “I only mean to help ye—”

Again that voice in the back of her head spoke up, though it was no longer a whisper and filled her ears as if someone shouted directly into them.

_Follow me!_

_“_ No!” Cassandra slapped the dwarf’s hand away, taking several steps back as she held his gaze.  The voice suddenly fell silent, though that sense of familiarity still remained.  She expected the dwarf to rage, to charge at her with his weapon drawn and an intent to kill.

But that death blow never came, and the dwarf stood his ground, watching her with eyes she swore did not belong to him.

And then he spoke.

“Interesting.”

Cassandra visibly flinched.  That voice.  It was familiar.  So familiar.  Too familiar.  It was a voice that haunted her dreams, a voice she feared to hear when alone in a crowd, a voice she had never heard outside her own head.

Until now.

Before she could react, the dwarf reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, a dull, purple glow emanating from him as he removed…his face?

No.  A mask.  A plain, wooden mask from what she could see.  Before her eyes, the dwarf who had barely come up to her shoulders now stood nearly two heads taller than her.  In fact, he was not a dwarf at all.  His ragged clothes were replaced by a long, deep purple robe, a heavy hood now shielding his eyes from her.  A slender, but strong form seemed to be hidden beneath the billowing cloth, if the broad shoulders were any indication.  Her only assurance that this was a human was the strong jawline and amused smirk visible beneath the hood.

Cassandra remained frozen where she stood, a cold, panicked sweat seeping into the cloth of her tunic.  Magic.  A magic she did not know existed.  A terrifying magic that now held her at its mercy.

“No more biting words?”  She flinched again as the stranger spoke, the voice sounding far more human when not echoing through the recesses of her mind.  His smirk widened into a grin.  “For a moment there I thought you might have finally grown the backbone I needed from you.  Though I must admit this is a much more intriguing development.”

Swallowing hard, Cassandra fought back against the terror seeping into her bones, forcing herself to demand an answer to the question that had tormented her for months.

“Who—who are you?” Her voice was hesitant, shaky, but she managed more force behind the question than she thought possible at that moment.

The stranger’s smirk remained firmly in place.  “I have many names and faces.  More than I could ever hope to count.   _You_  may know me as Greggor the beggar, Alden the merchant, or perhaps even Dorgerd the dwarf.”  His face split into a cheshire grin.  “But what most have come to call me would be the Dungeon Master.”

Her mouth went dry, her body taut with panic as it practically begged her to run.  This man, if he spoke true, was the stuff of myth, of legend, of children’s bedtime stories.  A sort of bogeyman conjured up by parents to keep their children in line.  

Be wary of strangers, the stories warned, or the Dungeon Master will lure you to an early grave.

_This cannot be real._

“How silent you are now,” the Dungeon Master mused, taking a step forward.  Cassandra fought to step back, to leave, to  _run_ ,but she remained rooted where she stood, terrified to incur this man’s wrath.  She wanted to think this was a trick, a ruse by a common thief to fool her out of what little coin she had on her, but she had seen his transformation, she heard the voice in her head come from his lips, and he knew of every stranger that triggered that cold feeling of familiarity in the recesses of her mind.

This man was the real deal, and she could be dead with a flick of his wrist if he merely willed it.

“You were so defiant each time we met.”  He took another step forward, watching her closely from beneath his hood as he slowly approached her. “You presented an exceedingly rare challenge.  Every time we met you resisted every nudge I gave you.  You just refused to go down any path I had mapped out for you.   _Why_ , I wondered.  Why were you able to resist my prodding?  But I finally have the answer.”

He was less than four feet from her, his strides agonizingly slow, as if giving him time to appraise her fully.  Her mind finally pushed against the panicked fog that kept her rooted where she stood and was finally able to answer its demands.

_Run!_

She turned on her heel to run, ready to bolt into the forest if need be—but crashed directly into the form of the Dungeon Master who now stood solidly behind her as if he had been there the whole time.

Cassandra stared up at him in horror as his gloved hand reached up to grasp her chin, his other quickly wrapping itself around her wrist.

“Still you fight to stray from the path I have set for you!  How truly interesting you are, my dear.  But there’s no need to be rude.”  He flashed her a charming grin, but it was laced with anger and a deep frustration.  From their new proximity, she could catch the faintest glimpse of his eyes from beneath his hood.  A bright blue.  The same as the merchant who badgered her that day in town. “As I was saying, you could feel my influence.  You could…recognize me somehow.  You could hear my nudging and prodding within your mind.  A truly one of a kind and… _troubling_ talent.”

His smooth, baritone voice plummeted to a growl with that revelation.  Cassandra tugged against his grip, feeling a sudden desperation sprout in the pit of her stomach, only for the hand on her chin to dart to the back of her neck, tugging fiercely on her red locks to keep her still.  A small whimper slipped passed her lips as she locked eyes with him, ceasing her struggle as his cheshire grin appeared once again.

“What do you want from me?”  She hated how weak she sounded, how scared, but she especially hated how it made his grin widen in glee.

“Ah, she speaks! And here I thought you had gone mute.”  The hand on her wrist released its grip, only for it to then intertwine his fingers with hers.  The leather of his gloves were strangely soft.   Smooth to the touch.  She could feel the heat from his hand through the glove, although she was unsure if that was his body heat or whatever great magic might be rippling beneath his skin.  “I am known to be rather fair in whatever outcomes occur from the games I play with my chosen players.  The game may not end the way I had hoped, but I take it in stride and merely try harder to get the results I desire the next time around.”  His grin fell, his lips tightening into a straight line.  His already thin lips disappeared in a snarl, the Dungeon Master lowering his head as he whispered directly, intimately in her ear. “But you, my dear, are an anomaly, an unknown, a…cheat of sorts.  And I don’t like it when my players cheat.”

Cassandra visibly shivered, trying to wrench herself free from his grasp once more, only to be rewarded with a sharp twist of the fist still knotted within her hair.  A sharp yelp escaped her as she wrenched her eyes shut, doing her damnedest to prevent the pained tears from spilling down her cheeks.  Clenching her jaw, she managed to ground out, “I want no part in whatever game you’re playing, and I am definitely no _cheat_.  How can I cheat at a game I had no idea I was playing?”

The Dungeon Master merely shrugged, clearly unfazed by her argument.  “Ignorance is no excuse, my fair maiden.  Your very existence changes everything about this world I manipulate.  The possibility of losing is something I can handle, because there is always a chance I can win the next round.  But with you…” He trailed off, his voice little more than a deep rumble in his chest, “there is  _no_  chance I can win.”

Pure, unadulterated fear made her blood run cold in her veins, her eyes widening as her face grew pale and her legs began to tremble.  Were it not for his firm grip on her, she knew for sure she would have been on her knees in the dirt before him.

“So, what are you going to do with me?”  Her voice was little more than a soft, resigned whisper.  She wanted to look away from that ice-blue gaze, but it held firm, even more so than his physical hold on her.

The snarl disappeared, replaced by a condescending smirk, his voice returning to that familiar smooth baritone.  “That depends.  You have a choice to make.  You can be a knowing player in the game I have planned for you, the first of your kind.  The only rule is you cannot resist or divert from the paths I have set for you.  Not to worry, you would be warned whenever you threaten to divert from the game before any action would be taken. ”

Cassandra swallowed against her parched throat, her tongue thick and heavy in her mouth as she struggled to speak.  “And my other choice?”

“Well, it’s actually two other choices.”  The Dungeon Master released his grip on her hair, his now free hand coming to rest at the small of her back.  She shivered.  “You can come with me and assist me with my games.  If you can’t be a player, you can take up another role in the game.”  The hand that held her own abruptly tightened as he pulled her in closer, her body now pressed flush against his own, his billowing cloak nearly encompassing her smaller form.  “Or I could kill you here and now, ending this entire problem at the source.”  His thin lipped smile was pleasant, welcoming, as if he hadn’t just assured her death should she refuse him.  “What say you?”

Cassandra bit her lip, her mind racing at a pace she never thought was possible.  How could he expect her to pick just like that?  No matter what she chose, life as she knew it was over, and she would never again have real control over her own life.

“Before I choose, I have a question.”  The Dungeon Master cocked his head.  From what she could see beneath the shadow of his hood, his brow rose in what she could only assume was surprise.  At his silence, she pressed on.  “If I were to pick one of the first two choices, could I later choose the other option, should I decide my first choice is not what I wanted?”

The Dungeon Master physically reeled back, seemingly stunned into a brief silence.  After a moment, a deep, throaty chuckle rumbled beneath his purple robes, and a genuinely amused smile formed on his lips.

“My fair lady, you continue to divert from the path I have set for you even now.”  With a final snicker, he released his hold on her, bringing her hand up to his lips as he gently brushed them against her knuckles.  “You have my word that should you dislike whatever path you choose, that you may request to leave that path and pursue another.  But,” he held up a finger, punctuating the ultimatum.  “You may only do this once.  If you change from one path to another, you must stick to that path, or face your death.  Understand?”

Left with little choice, Cassandra nodded, and the Dungeon Master smiled beneath his hood.

“What is your choice, my lady?”

A strange calm washed over her, and with a clear, steady voice replied, “I will be your player.  That was the path originally set for me, I might as well at least see what you had in store for me.”

“A wise choice.  I have been longing for some time now to see what route you would choose, where your story would take you.”  She must have shot him a nervous look, because he immediately let out a soft  _shushing_  sound.  “Hush, my lovely maiden, your fate is still your own.  I have no control over what becomes of you.  You, in the end, decide that.  I just happen to play a rather  _intimate_  part in your story.  Now, then.” From beneath his cloak, his free hand retrieved that plain, wooden mask, his gloved fingers delicately running along its rim as he smiled down at her.  “This will be fun.”


	2. Wrath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I decided to do more of this. May or may not do more. I don't know, man. This is really, really long. I'm sorry.

Traveling by night was never the most ideal, nor really the most intelligent, choice in these woods—especially for those doing so alone.  Bloodthirsty thieves, vicious beasts, and, if the stories were to be believed, restless demons resided within the thick foliage lining the well worn path, waiting for some hapless traveler to wander into their domain.  Some say that if you listen long and hard enough, you can hear the wails of their victims echoing through the trees, begging for someone, anyone, to leave the safety of the trail and save them from their gruesome fate.

A shame that Cassandra could not be bothered to stop and listen much at all.

Rustling leaves and the occasional cricket chirp were all that accompanied her near-silent footsteps, her midnight blue cloak fluttering gently in the cool breeze as she carefully scanned the treeline.  She carried no lantern, relying on the faint light of the crescent moon to light her way.  She may not have believed the warnings of the townspeople she had left behind a mere few hours ago, but she wasn’t fool enough to believe that  _he_  would not see fit to have a bit of fun with her skepticism.  It would be right in line with his sadistic sense of humor to sick an owlbear or two on her should she give in and light even a single candle.

The Dungeon Master had done far worse to punish her for her missteps.

Cassandra’s jaw tightened as she fought against the flood of memories threatening to overwhelm her, daring to stop for half a breath to collect herself before continuing on.  It had been a little more than two years since she had been forced to leave her village, her home, her  _family_ , all to satisfy the whims of an old, long forgotten god.  She had gone from a comfortable life with a loving family to a lonely and perpetually dangerous existence on the road, moving from town to town, village to village, city to city, playing the newfound hero in this sick game of his.  People had died due to her inexperience,  _she_  had nearly died on numerous occasions thanks to some folly or another on her part.  Sometimes it wasn’t even her fault, merely the boredom of her benefactor shining through, wanting to see exactly how far he could push her until she finally shattered in his hands.  But he had never let that last breath escape her lungs, never allowed that last heartbeat to resound through her body.  Someone or something always came along and interfered, staving off death for just a little while longer.

“ _You are far too entertaining to lose to death just yet, my dear_ ,” the Dungeon Master had said.  “ _We are only just getting started._ ”

But after two years, many scars, and countless hungry nights, the game was getting old.  The puppet show had gone on long enough, and it was high time for the curtain to come down.

Stepping lightly along the path, Cassandra peaked through the brush on either side of her for any sign of the forest’s supposed inhabitants, the hood of her cloak pulled low over her face as she continued on her way.  The current game they were playing insinuated that she should have stayed in town until morning before continuing on her way to the city of Rathdown, a decently sized and densely populated place that may or may not face an attempted assassination come tomorrow afternoon.  Cassandra had no idea what part she was supposed to play in any of this, or if she was even to play a part at all, but knew that the Dungeon Master’s plans seemed to require her to remain in that ramshackle excuse for a town until sunrise.  It was petty, and probably foolish, but she was tired of playing right into whatever hand he dealt her and had decided to set off as the sun began to set.  She had followed his rules to the letter in the beginning, terrified of incurring his wrath and nullifying their deal, but two years was a long time, and that fear had dulled.  That once ice cold dread encasing her heart had melted into a blazing anger, pulsing through her veins like dragonfire.

It was her turn to see exactly how far she could push the legendary Dungeon Master before he finally cracked.

 

* * *

 

Leaves crunched beneath her feet as Cassandra walked the ever narrowing path.  What had started out as something akin to a dirt road two wagons wide had diminished into a footpath just barely wide enough for a single cart to make its way.  The trail was overgrown, the thick forest canopy blocking out most of the already faint moonlight as dead and dried foliage littered the ground beneath her feet, making her every step seem to resound loudly through the thick cluster of trees surrounding her.  More than once, she had stumbled over a particularly deep rut in the road, nearly twisting her ankle or falling flat on her face in the darkness.  Had she not known any better, she would have thought the Dungeon Master was to blame for her sudden clumsiness, but she always knew when his eyes were upon her, and the night had been calm and quiet thus far.

It was something she could never really explain, even to herself.  The air just seemed to… shift whenever his attention had turned to her, accompanied by a bizarre sensation along her skin.  To call it hair-raising would be an understatement, the sensation much closer to the feeling in the back of your skull when someone was watching you: prickly, clammy, tight—except  _everywhere_.

Cassandra shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around herself.  As much as she loathed his inopportune appearances, she much preferred them to his voyeuristic tendencies from whatever other plane of existence he resided on.  There was nothing quite as disconcerting as being watched so intensely from so far away.

The moon had risen high in the star laden night sky, the only indication that time was indeed passing as Cassandra pushed on.  The silence had become oppressive as the wind stilled, the comforting sound of rustling leaves replaced by the occasional distant cry of a night-prowling creature and her own footfalls.  Even the crickets had fallen silent, leaving the area shrouded in an eerie and all consuming sort of quiet, the kind not typically of the forest.

Her mind began to wander back to that town she had left, a cold and familiar dread dimming that burning rage in her belly.  Had she missed something in her haste to leave?  She had always been so careful to read the people she spoke to, her surroundings, the very air she breathed.  The Dungeon Master always left behind a sort of taint wherever he went.  Everything he touched, everything he influenced, bore his mark in some way.  It had taken her some time to even notice it, having spent so long seeking out that strange tug in the back of her mind when speaking to a complete stranger, but, after awhile, she began to sense the subtle intricacies of this game of chance he loved to play, almost as if he left behind a fraction of himself in order to set things in motion.

But she had felt no such thing in that sad excuse for a town.  She had been so sure that it was to be no more than a rest stop on her way to her true destination, a safe place to lay for the night before continuing on, but what if it hadn’t been?  What if she had missed something, and she had been urged into this forest by his delicate prodding?  What if he had found some way to avoid her subtle detections of his influence?  

What if she had done exactly what he wanted after all?

That last thought had Cassandra drawing her favored dagger as she scanned the tree line, the hilt a tarnished silver with a well worn, leather-bound grip.  How could she have been so stupid?  She should have realized there would be no getting over on him.  He had always been at least one step ahead of her in every decision she made, her continued existence only due to his fascination with her uncanny ability to sense him and his delicate coercions.

Perhaps she had underestimated him.

The sound of rustling leaves and cracking branches brought Cassandra’s train of thought to a screeching halt.  She spun on her heel toward the noise, her dagger up and ready as a figure stumbled out through the underbrush not four feet from her.  A strangled yelp caught in the back of her throat as she quickly stepped back, her eyes wide in panic as the forest seemed to close in around her.

A mistake.  She’d made a grave mistake.

But the figure seemed unperturbed, if not a bit relieved, once they spotted her.  “Oh, thank the gods.  I thought I saw someone traipsing through here, but I thought for sure this damned forest was playing tricks on me again.”

A friendly voice.  Male, perhaps.  Deep, but with a light and lively inflection to the words.  There was a slight accent, noticeable only when pronouncing certain vowels, but it was unfamiliar to her.  The stories from the townspeople came flooding back to her, of thieves and demons prowling the woods.  

She did not lower her dagger, nor relax her stance, as she spoke, “Who are you?  What are you doing here?”

The stranger chuckled, a strangely pleasant sound, as he stepped into the pale light of the moon streaming through the forest canopy.  His skin was pale, seeming almost washed out in the gloom, with long, dark hair as black as the night that surrounded them.  She could only just barely make out his friendly grin.  “I should be asking you the same thing, but I thought it would be a rude way to start off the conversation.”

Cassandra remained still and silent, watching him closely as he sighed.  “My name is Falaern, if you truly must know, and I’ve been lost in this godsforesaken forest all day.  I was starting to worry I might never make it out.”

“‘Starting to’?”  Cassandra risked a glance up toward the moon.  It had already long reached its apex and was beginning its descent in the star-speckled night sky.  Though she was certain he could not see it beneath her hood, she was fairly sure he could at the very least feel her doubtful stare.

“What can I say?” Falaern shrugged, his grin still in place.  “I’m a positive person.  And that seems to have paid off, as I am now in lovely company and on, what I assume is, a path of some sort.”

She merely sighed, lowering her dagger.  She was in no mood for whatever ploy this may be.  She was tired, hungry, and now very annoyed.  

Turning on her heel, Cassandra began to walk away.  “Yeah.  Well, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go now.”

“Wait!”  Falaern stumbled forward a few steps toward her, cursing the uneven ground of the overgrown path.  “Can’t I come with you?  You shouldn’t be alone out here—no one should.”

“Will you keep your voice  _down_?”  Cassandra hissed, quickly glancing around them as she turned back toward him.  “If you’re so worried about me being alone out here, then try not to attract whatever it is you think I shouldn’t be alone to face.”

He winced, glancing around them nervously.  “Sorry.  I just.  Don’t leave me out here.  I don’t know the way back into town.”

Cassandra pointed down the path behind him, her face deadpan in the shadow of her hood.   “A few hours straight down this road.  Impossible to get lost so long as you stay on it.”  She turned to walk away again, only for him to grab at her cloak, the motion nearly choking her as she came to a sudden stop.

“Alone?  I can’t possibly head back alone!”  At her glare, he abruptly lowered his voice to a whisper.  “I’ve been on my feet all this time trying to find a way out!  I’m too tired to do this alone.  Please, let me come with you.”

As she ripped her cloak from his grip, he took a large step back, his hands held up innocently as a nervous smile played upon his lips.  Even at this proximity, she could make out few details of his appearance in the dim lighting, but one thing she had missed was the pair of pointed ears peeking out from beneath his dark hair.  How she hadn’t noticed the stark white of his skin against his inky black locks, she wasn’t sure, but she was, nonetheless, intrigued.

“Tell me, Falaern,” she began, “what is an elf doing all the way out here?  The nearest town is made up completely of humans, and you made no mention of coming from the city.”

“Oh.”  His hands immediately went up toward his ears, his cheeks flushing a bright, obvious pink.  “I guess my glamour failed when I panicked.”

Cassandra arched a curious brow as she rested her empty hand on her hip.  “Glamour?  What for?”

“You said it yourself,” Falaern sighed, his cheery demeanor wilting into resignation.  “The town is filled with humans, and I’m not sure any of them would care to have a wayward elf living amongst them.”

She felt a vague ache in her chest, an old homesickness rising to the forefront of her mind.  More than once, she had been met with suspicion and disdain when entering a new town or city, forcing her to keep her stay short and sweet.  A proper home was not a luxury she was allowed these days.  

She shoved the invasive thoughts back, walling them off in a deep and well hidden part of herself.  “And why were you out here?”

He grinned again, bright in the dark of the forest, but far more strained.  “An elf can’t explore the woods surrounding his home?  Someone has to see to it that those superstitions are finally put to rest.  Might as well be me.”

For the first time in what felt like decades, a small, but genuine, smile formed upon Cassandra’s lips.  “Sounds like you got more than you bargained for with that noble deed of yours.”

Falaern waved the suggestion away, his grin losing most of its unease.  “Nothing more than my poor sense of direction is to blame for that.  And that little nap I took in a lovely meadow I found.  Honestly, it was just a lot of poor planning on my part.”

She allowed herself a small huff of a laugh, reaching under her cloak to sheath her dagger once more.  The elf seemed genuine enough, and not even the least bit threatening, but, if she were being honest with herself, she… wanted to trust him.  More than anything she wanted to trust him, to have an actual companion and friend in this hellish life she had been thrust into.

“And?” she asked.  “Were there any terrible creatures lurking in there?”

“Unless you have a particular aversion to squirrels and the occasional owl…”  He shrugged.  “No, not particularly.  Disappointing, I know.”

She choked back a laugh, covering up the sound with a sniff.  “Then why shouldn’t I continue down this road on my own?  Why insist upon accompanying me if there’s nothing to fear?”

Dead leaves crunched and cracked beneath Falaern’s feet as his shifted his weight, his shoulders sagging slightly. “It’s been a lonely few years in that little town.  I thought it might be a nice change to have some company for a bit.”

The words struck a chord in her, dredging up emotions she had tried to keep locked away for far too long.  When was the last time she had sat down and had a normal conversation with anyone?  Talked about normal, mundane things?  Talked about anything that wasn’t related to some life or death situation in a distant city?  She couldn’t remember.  Truly could not remember.  Maybe it was with her mother some time before she left, or perhaps the baker back in the small village she had once called home.  But that was so long ago, another lifetime, even.  She had almost forgotten what it was like.

Maybe she could have it again.

Heaving a long, drawn out sigh, Cassandra reached up and pulled back her hood before holding out her hand to him, her smile kind and gentle as she at last allowed herself to really meet his eyes.  “The name’s Cassandra.  It’s a pleasure.”

His smile reflected her own as he took her hand in his, his hazel gaze sliding to meet hers.  “The pleasure is mine.”

That was when she felt it, that tug in the back of her mind, drawing her to him like he was an old friend from years past.  She should go with him, it said, befriend him, trust him, perhaps love him.  She would be safe with him, and she’d never be alone again, not so long as she trusted him with all her heart and soul.  She knew him, and she could trust him.

Cassandra’s eyes went wide, those soft whispers suddenly given a voice, a face, a _name_.  Her blood turned to ice in her veins, and those cold, sharp claws of familiarity tugged harder at her as that voice, an all too familiar voice, whispered to her from somewhere in the recesses of her mind.

_It took you long enough._

In a blind panic, Cassandra ripped her hand from his grasp, stumbling back until she hit the hard, unforgiving surface of an old oak, her chest heaving desperately for air that suddenly felt all too thin.  “You utter  _bastard!_ ”

Falaern chuckled, his voice no longer a bright and cheery tenor, but a dark and foreboding baritone.  “Honestly, my dear, you make it almost too easy.  How could I possibly pass up such an opportunity?”

“Take it off,” she growled, her voice trembling almost as badly as the hands fisted tightly at her sides.  “Take the damned mask off  _now_.”

He merely quirked an eyebrow at her, a smirk that did not quite fit the kind face of Falaern the elf sliding easily into place.  “But I rather like this one.  And I know you do, too.  I always suspected you had a special  _interest_  in elves, you know.”

“Take.  It.  Off,”  she ground out, her hand twitching toward the dagger sheathed at her side as she felt the burn of fresh tears rimming her eyes.  She never should have put it away, never should have shown such vulnerability.  She should have known better.  She should have known him better.

A soft  _tsk, tsk_  fell from his lips, his voice practically dripping with disdain.  “Temper, temper, darling.  I would watch that if I were you.  It could get you in trouble one day.”  He reached up toward his face, a soft, purple glow briefly lighting the path as his fingers brushed along his cheek, Falaern’s face falling away as easily as a wilted rose petal.

Somehow, seeing the hooded form of the Dungeon Master himself standing before her did nothing to quell the rage building inside her.

The Dungeon Master held the now deceptively plain, wooden mask out and away from him in a mocking display of appeasement, the plain travel clothes replaced by his elegant, gold-trimmed violet cloak.  “Happy now, my dear?  For someone who claims to loathe my presence so very much, you are awfully eager to have me stand before you as myself.”

“Anything else is nothing more than an underhanded lie, you manipulative bastard,”  Cassandra seethed, pushing off of the tree and approaching him with none of the hesitation she would have years ago.  “Why?  What was the goddamn point, you sadistic  _fuck_!”

“That’s a rather broad question,” he said, tucking the wooden mask away inside his cloak.  “Who am I to say what the point of anything is?  I am merely an observer.”

“ _Don’t_ ,” she snapped.  “None of this pointless banter you insist upon every time you decide to grace me with your presence.  Why do this?  Why?  Why… Why give me…”  She trailed off, choking on that final word:  _hope_.  Hope for what?  That she had finally gotten the upper hand in their little game?  That she had found a way to outsmart him?  Or was it hope that she had finally found herself a friend in all of this?

Cassandra’s heart dropped into her stomach at the thought, her vision blurring as the tears threatened to spill over.  

The Dungeon Master’s lips turned upward in a toothy, predatory smile, those bright blue eyes of his hidden from her, as they always were.  “You seemed so very lonely out here, dearest.  I thought I would give you a bit of company on your way to Rathdown, but then I remembered how much you detest my visits.”  He shook his head, his hood swaying slightly with the movement, as he moved to slowly circle her, his steps fluid and perfectly silent.  “And yet here you are, ungrateful as ever.  You never did appreciate whatever small kindnesses I bestowed upon you.  I don’t know why I thought this time would be any different.”

“What?  So this was punishment for starting out before you planned for me to?”  She blinked back the tears as best she could, her nails digging painfully into the palms of her hands as she tracked his movement with her gaze.  She would not cry for him.  Not again.  She had wasted too many tears on him, and they never did her any good in the end.

“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself,  _Cassandra_ ,” he bit out, each syllable of her name drawn out as if it were made of the thickest syrup.  “I have every possible decision you could make mapped out.  I am prepared for even the most outlandish and foolish choices that are undoubtedly swimming around in that delightful little head of yours.”  He paused, his steps coming to a halt directly behind her.  When he spoke again, she could feel his cool breath on the shell of her ear as he murmured, “But, I will say, that is what makes you such a wonderfully entertaining participant.”

“ _Participant?_ ” she spat, whirling around to face him.  He towered over her, his face veiled in shadow as the light of the moon spilled in through the forest canopy behind him, and yet still she swore she could see the slightest gleam in those ice-blue eyes as she continued, her pulse pounding against her temple. “That word carries with it a sense of  _willingness_  to take part in something,  _oh great Dungeon Master_.  The last I checked, I was forced into this sick game of yours under pain of death.”

Even in the shadow of his hood, Cassandra could see the muscles in his jaw shift, as if he were grinding his teeth in irritation.  “ _Forced_  is a rather colorful word to use, dearest.  You were given three choices.  Three paths to take.  You chose to be a player.  Do not demonize me for merely playing out my part in all of this.”

“People have died!” she shouted, her words echoing in the stillness of the night.  “People have died because of me.  There are people out there who are dead because I wasn’t good enough.  You set me to things that I wasn’t ready for, that I never had any hope of being ready for—”

“But are you now?”  The Dungeon Master cut her off, his voice hard as freshly forged steel.  “Could you face those things now and come out unscathed?”

Cassandra set her jaw, the muscles aching as she bit back what would be nothing more than a vulgar retort.  She could.  She knew she could.  And he did, too.  Which was precisely the point.  She could now survive all of those things he had pitted her against, she could protect innocents from things that she had once failed to.  He had done it to make her stronger, slowly but surely, both in mind and body.

He wanted her to be grateful.  He wanted her to fall to her knees and thank him for all he had done for her, the pains he had taken to ensure her survival in the trials he had planned for her.  And maybe, just maybe, she would have been, could have been, if only it hadn’t all been little more than a game of chess to him, a way to idly pass the endless stretch of eternity before him.  

And she’d be damned if she was going to thank him for that.

At her persisting silence, the Dungeon Master let out an aggravated sigh, his voice low and with an edge she had never heard before.  “Did you really think that I would make this easy for you?  Did you think that I would let you to continue to live out that horrendously boring life you led before this?  I might as well have ended you right then and there if that were the case.”

“Then why not do it?” she asked, refusing to break his gaze despite the cold chill of dread slowly creeping its way up her spine.  “You’ve had plenty of chances to just let me die and rid yourself of this obvious thorn in your side.  Why drag this out?  Why even bother with me once you realized what I could do?”

“I’ve told you before—”

“Yes, I know,” she snapped, dismissing him with a wave of her hand, “You find me fascinating, entertaining, and any other number of words that any decent person would use to describe their dog.”

Faster than her eyes could process it, the Dungeon Master reached out, snatching her wrist in a bone crushing grip as he pulled her flush against his torso.  She had almost forgotten the heat he radiated, fighting back a wince as the flesh of her wrist smarted in his grasp.  The leather of his gloves was just as she remembered—smooth to the touch, soft as the finest silk, and still did nothing to mask the magic that rippled beneath his skin.  She had often wondered if this form of his was his true one, or merely another one of his many masks.  The idea that such power could be contained within so ordinary a vessel was something she was never quite sure she believed.

But now, his hold on her firm and unyielding, that carefully restrained power dangerously close to boiling over, she knew, without a doubt, that this man was the channel for that magic, and that he could kill her with half a thought should he truly will it.

Even under the dark shadow of his hood, Cassandra saw as the Dungeon Master’s lips pulled back into a sneer, his teeth glinting faintly in the light of the moon.  “A dog, you say?”  His voice was low, dangerously so, only just barely above a whisper as he loomed over her.  “You know what they do to dogs that have outlived their usefulness, don’t you, my dear?”

She felt the color drain from her face.  “Your empathy is overwhelming.”

“As is your arrogance,” he said.  “You forget to whom you speak.”

“I know full well to whom I speak,” she said, her teeth bared.  “You’ve never let me forget.”

“Oh, but I have,” he drawled, his face but a hair’s breadth from her own.  “Otherwise you’d be on your hands and knees, begging my forgiveness.”

“I’d sooner drown in my own blood than beg you for anything,” she spat, her every word dripping with venom.

The Dungeon Master went quiet, still, the tension that had been steadily building between them finally snapping taut.  Cassandra knew she was playing with fire, wild, hardly suppressed fire, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.  Get on her hands and knees? _Beg?_   He demanded her respect, her obedience, her  _life_ , all while she danced to the pull of his puppet strings, believing she should be grateful for being allowed to live at all.  Her life was his to play with in his eyes, he could have killed her years ago, after all.  Every moment, every breath since then was a gift, one that he could take away whenever he wished.  She owed him everything, and he owed her nothing.

But she could no longer sit back and bite her tongue, mindlessly going through the motions as he played with the threads of fate, fraying hers until it was as fine as a spider’s web.

“It would seem I’ve been too lenient with you, my dear.”  He straightened, his voice like the roll of distant thunder, any last hint of amusement fading into the murky dim of the forest.  “You forget your place in all of this.  You forget  _my_  place.”  He released her with a shove, nearly knocking her to the ground with the force of it as he let out an uncharacteristically vicious snarl.  “Perhaps a reminder of what I really am will do you some good.”

In a swirl of billowing, black mist, the Dungeon Master vanished, leaving her alone and breathless on the trail once more.  For a brief moment, she felt that thick blanket of apprehension lift, her body sagging slightly in relief.  She could breathe easier, that haze of red hot anger fading with the black mist that had spirited the Dungeon Master away, but with the calm clarity that followed, a sickening realization struck her with the force of a swift punch to the gut.  She had felt so angry, so hurt, so betrayed, that she didn’t stop to think about what she was doing, of who she was facing.  She had spoken to him as if he was like her: human, _mortal_.  But he was nothing like her, nothing like anything on this plane of existence.  She had forgotten the fear, the awe, the dread his very presence had inspired in her, the power he wielded, the chaos he created.

He answered to no one, not even the gods themselves.

And she had angered him.

A low, feral growl sounded from behind her, the sound of heavy, padded footfalls on the overgrown trail breaking the stifling silence of the woods.  The air felt colder, heavier, as if something had shifted, severing this small slab of existence from the rest of the world.  Her skin felt tight, prickly, her muscles aching with the sensation as her instincts begged her to run, to flee from the sight of whatever watched her, stalked her—but it wasn’t whatever monster now stood at her back.

The Dungeon Master’s gaze had turned to her.

“Oh, god,” she mumbled, hardly more than a shuddering, breathless exhale.

But that was all the creature needed, piercing the night with an ear splitting roar as it bounded toward her.  Cassandra did not try to turn around, did not try to catch a glimpse of the creature the Dungeon Master had set upon her, but stooped low, nearly prostrate on the hard ground as the creature soared above her, only just barely missing its target as it came to a hard, stumbling stop a few yards from her.

It wasn’t the size of the coal black wolf that she first noticed, though it could rival the most fearsome bear for its stature, or even the elongated fangs, longer than her hand and twice as thick, protruding from its salivating maw, but the  _eyes_.  The eyes were a bright red, the color of rubies, but with an ethereal glow that spoke of unearthly nightmares.  The whispered warnings from the townspeople came rushing back to her, of the thieves, beasts, and demons that prowled the woods surrounding their quaint little town.  Cassandra had thought it superstition, a blatant fallacy cooked up by generations of scary stories around the local tavern hearth.  There could be no way such a well traveled road could snake through a forest so haunted, the very idea seemed impossible to her.

Perhaps the Dungeon Master had shielded her from far more than she had previously thought.

Cassandra hardly managed to scramble to her feet as the creature came at her again, it’s jaw snapping wildly, pink tinged forth leaking from the corners of its mouth, a stench like death filling her nostrils and making her gag.  As it leapt at her, slipping on the dried foliage littering the path, she ducked into a hasty roll off to the side that put a bit of distance between them, shedding her cloak as she went.

“What do you want from me?!” she shouted, the creature paying her no mind as it pawed at the ground in frustration, the uneven surface keeping it from gaining proper traction—but it wasn’t to the creature that she spoke.  “I have done every task you have set me to, what more do you want from me!”

She knew he was watching.  Somewhere out there, on whatever plane of existence he claimed as his own, he was watching the scene unfold.  She could still feel him, that piercing blue gaze of his focused intently on her and her alone, going through every possible movement and choice she could make, mapping out every outcome.  His attention would not be diverted, even if it meant bending the laws of this world to make it so.

She knew he was watching, so he could damn well listen as well.

The creature came at her again, swiping at her with a paw as big as her skull, as she only just barely escaped its reach, its claws tearing four wide gashes in her tunic.  She quickly drew her dagger, her hands surprisingly steady as she circled to the right, away from its toothy maw.  This was a test.  It had to be.  He couldn’t mean to kill her, could he?  Not after so long, not after all he had put her through, not like this.  She had always imagined she would die by his hand, should it ever come down to it.  She knew he could do it, he was more than capable of snuffing out her life with half a thought.  It was what she had prepared herself for, what she had come to accept as her fate.  

But this?  She couldn’t accept this.  She couldn’t accept such an abrupt and unceremonious end.  If she were to die, it would be by his hand and his hand alone.

Flipping the dagger in her hand so the blade faced downward, the serrated edge out, she dared to speak into the eerie quiet of the night once again, “So this is how you choose to be rid of me?  You set some hellhound after me to do your dirty work?”

The creature growled as it bounded toward her once more, its jaw open and ready to trap her within its grasp.  By the slightest margin, she sidestepped its agile form, swinging her dagger down in an arc to slice at its left flank as it passed—but it rounded on her quickly, far too quickly.  Before she could even think to react, it closed its jaws around her forearm, it’s unnaturally long fangs piercing the soft flesh as blood quickly gushed from the wound.  The pain didn’t even register, not at first, almost as if her scrambled nerves fought to mask it just long enough for her to get out of its death grip.  In a fit of panic, Cassandra swung her dagger at the creature’s head, the blade cutting a deep, six-inch long gash along the side of its face—right through one of its glowing red eyes.

A loud, startled yelp sounded from the creature as it leapt back, releasing her bloodied, mangled arm with a loud series of whines.  She stumbled back and away from the hound, the momentum causing her to fall on her side in the dirt.  It hurt like all hell, an unnatural burning sensation creeping its way up her arm from the wound, accompanied by that same pungent, rotten odor that the wolf emitted.  The blood flowed freely, almost relentlessly, as if it would not be clotting of its own volition any time soon.  Poison.  Possibly a type of venom.  Great.  

But even that didn’t frighten her as much as the perpetual silence in the air, in her head.  He was still watching, she could feel him, but the Dungeon Master remained silent, a spectator of her struggle.  The adrenaline induced calm began to fade, overtaken by a pure and unrelenting panic that stole the air from her lungs.  Her vision began to swim, her chest tightened painfully, and her breaths turned to gasps as she struggled to take in air.  He had never remained impartial for so long, had never allowed any encounter to become so blatantly dire.  The poison would undoubtedly kill her in a few short hours, and she had no idea how much further Rathdown was from here.  The town she had come from was her best bet, but she had no idea how long she could last in this state, already beginning to feel a bit more sluggish than she had a few moments ago.  Was that the blood loss or the poison working through her system?

The creature’s pained whines subsided quickly, far too quickly for Cassandra’s liking, as it turned its head to glare at her with its remaining eye, the left side of its face a mess of oozing black gore, mixing with the dark red of her blood staining its jaws.  

She was going to die.

“I’m sorry!” she blurted out, her voice hoarse with the sudden dryness of her throat.  It hurt to swallow, it hurt to talk.  But she had to, she had to speak to him.  She had to fix this.  “I understand now, I get it!  You have a power I could never hope to best or understand!  I spoke out of turn!  Please, I’m sorry!”

The creature prowled closer, circling her, in no hurry now that she had been effectively immobilized.  Its lips were pulled back into a predatory snarl, the pink tinged froth now stained bright red.  It had tasted her blood, and would not hold itself back for much longer.

Panicked tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the creature’s form before her, its remaining bright red eye the only defining feature Cassandra could make out in the fading moonlight.  She never should have angered him, never should have even considered seeking out his breaking point.  She should have realized that to test those limits was to invite retribution, that to push him over the edge would mean for him to pull her down with him.  She had been a fool, a goddamn fool, and the Dungeon Master had decided that he had had enough.

A sharp pain shot up her arm and into her shoulder, her cry catching painfully in the back of her throat.  With the hellhound continuing to circle her, Cassandra closed her eyes, those panicked tears finally spilling over.  She couldn’t watch it, couldn’t let the last thing she saw be the slavering beast children’s nightmares were made of.  But, most of all, she couldn’t watch it rip into her, watch those too long teeth tear the flesh from her bones, the very idea enough to turn her stomach to lead in her gut.

Hugging her limp, mutilated arm to her chest, her hot, sticky blood soaking into the thin cloth of her ragged clothes, desperation took hold.  She didn’t want to die.  Not now, not like this.  She was scared.  Oh, by the gods she was scared, and they would not,  _could not_  help her.  She was under his dominion, and he was untouchable.  

Forgetting her pride, forgetting her years of anger and torment, she called out to him, her one and only benefactor, the plea coming out as little more than a strangled whimper, “Please, help me.”

The creature let out a loud, startled yowl, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the small, winding path.  Cassandra’s eyes shot open, her gaze drawn to the writhing form of the demonic creature.  Its whines were loud and helpless, piercing the night like a dozen arrows as it struggled to get to its feet, clearly disoriented from whatever painful blow it had received.  It took a moment for her to notice in the ever dimming light of the moon, but black, reeking blood now pooled around the creature, its paws reaching up frantically toward its snout as blood gushed from its jaw.  

No, not its jaw.  That would require it to  _have_  a jaw.

Cassandra’s eyes widened in utter horror as her gaze darted about, seeking out whatever hellish creature could have dealt such a swift and powerful blow.  What else could he have sent after her?  What other horrors lie in wait in this haunted forest awaiting his command?  She didn’t want to know.  She needed to get away, that instinctual urge to run winning over as she fought to crawl back from the panicked creature on too weak limbs—only to bump into something solid and unmoving.

Ripping her gaze from the slowly dying hellhound, Cassandra’s eyes fell upon the all too familiar gold-trimmed violet cloak of the Dungeon Master, his hand outstretched toward the creature as his palm emitted a soft, purple glow.  

Had she not been on the very precipice of death itself, Cassandra might have cried out in relief.

His lips set in a firm, thin line, the Dungeon Master clenched his fist.  The creature let out a stomach-churning howl as a sickening crack resounded through the trees.  The wolf’s body twisted, it’s back angled at an unnatural angle, almost as if it were being wrung out like a wet dish cloth.  With one last, long whine, the creature fell limp to the ground with a soft thud, that pool of black, sulfurous blood spreading rapidly around its twitching, lifeless body.

A violent shudder shot up her spine, the death throes of the wolf still echoing in her ears.  It had taken him a handful of seconds, possibly less, to wrench the life from the bear-sized hellhound, and he had been none too gentle about it.  He had torn it apart from the inside, shattered its bones and ripped through its innards.  Though its death had been quick, its last moments had been filled with agonizing, all encompassing pain.

Cassandra swallowed against her too dry throat, risking a glance up at her savior.  Was this the fate that awaited her once he tired of her?

But his face revealed nothing of the sort.  No hint of what her future might hold as he stood over her, his ever hidden gaze taking in the sight of her as she lay in the dirt, trembling from head to toe and covered in her own blood.  

“So much for drowning in your own blood,” he said, that mocking lilt returning in full force.

She merely stared up at him, blinking in confusion as she fought to catch her breath.  “What?”

“So quickly you forget your words.”  He clasped his hands behind his back, looking every bit the king reprimanding his disrespectful servant.  “Almost as if you don’t think before you speak.  You’d best rectify that, dearest.  There are people out there who are not nearly as forgiving as me.”

It took a full beat for his words to register, her overwhelmed and battered mind slow to adjust to her new, slightly less dire circumstances.  His tone was relaxed, conversational—if not a tad derisive—her transgressions all but forgotten, it would seem.  Were she clear headed, she would have thanked her lucky stars and joined in their endless dance, meeting his snide remarks parry for parry, as she always did.

But, unfortunately, she did not have the luxury of a clear head at the moment.  Nor the energy to fake it, if she were being completely honest.

“You—!”  She made to push herself to her feet, a long string of curses and vulgarities just waiting to leap off the tip of her tongue—but her body failed her.  Her voice broke off into a pained whimper as weak limbs trembled and buckled beneath her weight, hardly able to even to sit up on her knees.  She was lightheaded, nauseous, her mangled, still bleeding arm beginning to feel a disturbing lack of pain.  She attempted to move a finger or two, bracing herself for a burst of pain to shoot up her arm, but there was nothing.  In fact, not even a single finger so much as twitched.

Oh, this was bad.

Cassandra glared up at the Dungeon Master, her ruined arm held gingerly to her chest, only to be met with a small, vaguely amused smile.

“What did that thing do to me?”  Had she the strength, the question would have come out at a sharp demand, but she was so tired, so weak, it was closer to a broken sob.

“It looks to me like it very nearly bit your arm off,” he said, an air of carefully crafted disinterest about him.  “If you need me to tell you that, you may need to reconsider this path of yours.”

She grit her teeth as she ground out, “You know what I meant, asshole.”  She shifted on her knees, wincing as the throbbing pain radiated from her shoulder to the base of her neck.  “What was it?  Poison?  Venom?  Some sort of hellish curse?  I need to know what I’m dealing with if I am to have any hope of rectifying this.”

His head tilted ever so slightly to the side.  She could practically see the arched eyebrow beneath his hood.  “Have you no potions on you?  Antidotes?”

“I have precious few potions and no antidotes,” she said through a grimace.  It was getting harder to focus on him.  “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know that.”

Another cruel smile.  “A pity.”

Cassandra continued to scowl at him, though her vision was becoming blurry, unfocused.  The Dungeon Master remained unmoving, impassive save for that ghost of merciless smile playing upon his lips.

“What do you want?”  Her voice cracked, desperation beginning to bleed into her words.  “Are you just here to watch me die?  You could have done that from whatever hellscape you crawled out of.”

He was silent, moving only to unclasp his hands from behind his back and cross his arms over his chest.  

 _Sadist_ , she thought, biting her tongue to keep the word from slipping through her lips.

It was getting harder to breathe, her chest tight, her every breath a panting gasp.  The Dungeon Master would watch her die, she had no doubt, with little more than a wistful sigh as her heart stilled.  This was an eventuality, the endgame, in his mind.  It was all just a matter of where and when.

“I apologized already,” she said weakly, her head beginning to feel impossibly heavy.  “I know you heard me.  I said I was sorry.”

Nothing.  No reaction, not even a twitch of his lips.  Maybe he did intend to watch her slip away.

Her head felt fuzzy, her thoughts blurring together into an unintelligible mess.  It took all of her focus to string a few words together as her head began to sag, her gaze dropping to the Dungeon Master’s feet.  “Please.  I said I was sorry.  Please…”

She was tired, so very tired.  The night felt longer than most, as if time had slowed to a crawl beneath the boughs of the trees.  Could the Dungeon Master do that?  Her head throbbed at the thought.  She just wanted to rest.  Just for awhile, just so she could get her thoughts in order.  Then she could talk to him.  What was a few hours to the likes of him?

As her eyes began to flutter, she felt a sudden grip on her chin, her eyes shooting open as her face was angled upward once more.  The Dungeon Master leaned over her, those soft, gloved fingers firm on her jaw as he said,  “Say that again, my dear.  But, this time, have the courtesy to look me in the eye.”

What had she said to him?  She had said something, she knew that much.  Her throat wouldn’t feel as if she had swallowed sandpaper if she hadn’t.  It was a request.  Maybe.  Couldn’t he just go away?  It would be easier to think if he let her rest.

With heavy eyelids, Cassandra stared up into the face of the Dungeon Master, his grip on her chin the only thing keeping her rooted to this world.  Her head a murky, hazy jumble of piecemeal thoughts, she said the one thing she felt he wanted to hear, if only it meant he would leave her in peace, “Please.”

A terrible, smug smirk split his features.  “Now, that wasn’t so hard was it?”

With his free hand, the Dungeon Master took her wounded arm within his grasp, the sticky, barely clotted blood squelching beneath his fingers.  At first she felt nothing, the pressure of his grip around her forearm almost imperceptible, but then there was warmth, soft and comforting, spreading from her wound, up her arm, and into her body.  As if a heavy wooden beam had been removed from her chest, she could breathe easily and uninhibited once again.  The dense fog in her mind lifted, her thoughts falling into place with a clarity that had seemed unattainable only a moment ago.  At last, that mangled, useless arm of hers could feel again, the throbbing pain radiating from the festering wounds a distant echo in her abused nerves.  She dared to look down, surprised to see that the only evidence of the mutilated flesh was the dark, drying blood that stained her skin and clothes.  

Had… had he… ?

“Better now, darling?”

The Dungeon Master’s voice shook her from her stupor, her gaze shooting back up to meet his.  With her mind clear once more, she became all too aware of how close he was, of his still solid hold on her chin and wrist, of the unnatural heat his body always radiated.  

And then she remembered all he had done, and how she came to be here, on her knees in the dirt before him, a mess of sweat and blood.

She twisted in his grip, wrenching herself from his grasp with an ease that told her he merely released her.  She still felt unsteady, nearly falling over as she pushed herself to her feet.  For a brief instant, she thought he might reach out to help her, give her a moment to gain her footing.  But he moved not an inch, watching her struggle to regain her balance with a cruel detachment.  

He may have healed her, even rid her body of the poison slowly killing her, but she had still lost more blood than she cared to think about, and it would be a long while before she would be able to do much of anything without nearly tipping over.

“I—” she rasped, the heel of her palm pressed into her forehead, fighting back a wave of nausea as her head swam.  “This is… I don’t understand.”  She swallowed hard, wincing as her parched throat protested.  “I should be dead.”

“Perhaps next time you’ll pack appropriately for whatever plans you have,” he said, his arms crossed over his chest once more.  “Or maybe you’ll even think to still that sharp tongue of yours.  Both sound equally implausible, unfortunately.”

“Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?” she groaned, lowering her hand to unconsciously run her fingers along her newly healed arm.  Why had he done it?

“Ah, there she is,” he said.  “I should have realized that supplication was born of little more than desperation.  You mortals become so very pliable when death comes to call.  A shame you couldn’t follow through on that reckless obstinance of yours.  It’s easy to spit in my face when not faced with your own mortality, isn’t it?”

Cassandra flinched, realization breaking through the throbbing in her skull, a briefly forgotten rage sparking to life once more. “Are you telling me that all of this was because I hurt your  _pride_?”

The Dungeon Master scoffed.  “You’ve always been rather slow on the uptake, haven’t you?”

If her head didn’t feel as if it were on the brink of splitting in two, she might have screamed.  “So you would you have just… let me die had I not called out to you?  Had I not—” She nearly choked on the word.  “— _begged_ for your help?”

The Dungeon Master shrugged, an infuriatingly casual gesture.  “You don’t know.  And you never will, I suppose.  A mystery for the ages, it would seem.”

The pounding in her head seemed to harmonize with the beating of her pulse, her hands trembling with the rush of fury that overtook her, her face hot with embarrassment.  “You felt a punishment was in order,” she seethed.  “What better way than to throw my words back in my face in the most agonizing way possible?  You wanted to see me beg for my life, on my hands and knees, just like you said I should be.  Or did you truly want me dead, and my pleas for mercy were just a bonus?”

“If I wanted you dead, my dear, you would be,” he said icily, his body tense.  “And you would never know that I was the one to do it.”

A sharp shiver shot up her spine, her eyes unconsciously drifting to where the dead hellhound still lay, but still she pressed, her humiliation beating back any rational thought.  “Or perhaps you felt you had gone too far?  Perhaps for the first time in your miserable existence, you felt the slightest shred of compassion—”

“Do not mistake this act of mercy for compassion!” he roared, his thin lips disappearing in a feral snarl as he lunged for her throat, his fingers closing around the delicate flesh of her neck like a vice.  He pushed her back until she was pressed against a tree, the force of it knocking the air from her lungs as she clawed fruitlessly at his leather clad hand, terrified to be denied air once more.  “This was a warning.  A threat, even, if that word more accurately captures that wonderfully colorful picture you’ve painted of me.  Remember this, my  _darling_  Cassandra, the next time you think it wise to test the limits of my generosity.”

He held her there, his nostrils flaring as he stared her down, his hold on her neck only just loose enough to allow her to breathe.  Even in the shadow of that deep, heavy hood, the rage that burned in those bright blue eyes could not be concealed, his jaw clenched tight enough to cause a flicker of muscle along his cheek.  A threat?  No, that was far too kind a word for what had transpired.  It was a  _promise_.  Should she speak out of turn, cross that very fine line between amusement and insolence ever again, the Dungeon Master would not think twice before snuffing out her insignificant life once and for all.  She was here for his enjoyment, nothing more, nothing less.  

After all, even a beloved dog would be put down for biting its master.

As he released his hold on her, Cassandra merely slid to the ground, her legs unable to keep her upright any longer.  The heat from his hand lingering on her flesh, a small part of her wondered if he had considered ripping out her throat, leaving her to drown in her own blood as she had so boldly stated only a short while ago.

“I suggest resting here until morning before continuing on your way,” the Dungeon Master said, his voice strangely devoid of any of his customary derision.  His gaze was not on her, but on the hand that had gripped her neck, the very same one that had pulled her back from the brink of death.  “Perhaps, if you’re lucky, a merchant will come along by sunrise and offer you a ride.  Stranger things have happened, after all.”

She offered only a nod in response, too tired to think of a retort, much less actually voice it.  But she found it didn’t matter, as the Dungeon Master disappeared in that same swirl of black mist before she even finished the movement, leaving her alone under the slowly lightening sky, the carcass of the hellhound her only company.

She fought the temptation to slip into an exhausted slumber, that nagging fear that he would change his mind and decide to finish what he started keeping her on high alert.  But all remained quiet, the sinister shadows of the forest growing longer and more pronounced as the sun broke over the horizon, the distant cries of the night dwelling creatures giving way to the cheerful chirping of waking songbirds.

It wasn’t long before the sound of a rickety cart making its way down the path broke through the newfound calm, an astonished gasp and the snort of a horse ripping Cassandra from her bleary-eyed stupor.

“By the gods!” the man atop the cart exclaimed.  “Miss!  Miss, are you all right?”

Cassandra merely waved her arm in a dismissive gesture, not feeling inclined to explain her appearance.  Or the mangled corpse of a hellhound a few yards from where she sat.

“That’s not much of an answer,” the man scratched at his scruffy, graying chin, eyes darting about nervously.  Clearly he put more stock in the town’s warnings than she had.

“It’s been that kind of a night,”  Cassandra said, her voice nearly unrecognizable.  It sounded like she had swallowed a fistful of gravel wrapped in wool.  She needed water.  And sleep.  Oh, so much sleep.

The man looked between her and the back of his cart, and back again, clearly at odds with some internal dilemma.  Cassandra could just barely spot a crate of berries sticking out from beneath the beige tarp covering the cart.  She sighed.  A merchant.  Of course.

“Well,” he began, running a tanned hand through his short cropped, salt and pepper hair.  “You don’t look like you’re gonna be going anywhere anytime soon.  And… well…”  He cleared his throat awkwardly.  “Miss, if I may be frank, I don’t think any respectable city would allow someone in your state through their gates.”

She laughed, low and breathless, as she leaned her head back against the tree.  “You’d probably be right, sir.”

“I, uh,” he reached behind him and into a satchel, pulling out a thick, pine green cloak.  “I have some spare clothes that might do you some good, and an empty seat as well.  Me and Tragert are heading into Rathdown this morning for the market.  If you want a ride, all it will cost you is your company.”

Cassandra heaved another sigh, tears welling up in her eyes as she pushed herself to her feet, leaning heavily on the sturdy trunk of the tree at her back.  “Thanks.  I’ll have to warn you, though, I won’t be very good conversation.”

The man smiled amicably, sliding over slightly in his seat as he offered her a hand to help her up onto the cart.  “Not to worry, miss, I’ll do the talkin’ for you.”

Cassandra didn’t bother taking his hand, heaving herself onto the hard, wooden bench of the cart.  The merchant merely nodded and passed her the cloak, urging his horse along with a click of his tongue as he began to speak, telling her stories of his life on a farm on the shore of a beautiful lake, and the family he had proudly raised and provided for with what started out as a simple garden.

All the while, she could not bring herself to meet his gaze, knowing that if she did, she would undoubtedly feel that all too familiar tug in the back of her mind.


	3. Yearning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, you're amazing, honestly.

Fresh snow crunched softly beneath her boots as a light dusting of flurries fell from the dull, gray sky, giving the streets of the small town a serene, almost storybook feel.Shops were open for business, forcing the shopkeepers to don their scarves and mittens and clear a path to their doors.A few children laughed and played in the snowdrifts, building various forts and snowmen in front of their homes as their parents stood in the doorways, hot drinks in hand and gentle smiles on their faces.Cottage roofs were laden with sheets of sparkling white, the usually transparent windows opaque with frost that made the lights within seem to give off an ethereal glow. 

It was a sight Cassandra had not glimpsed since she left her village, and it almost made her feel like she was back home once more.

There were few people out and about, and those who braved the cold were bundled up in layers of clothes with their hands shoved deep into their pockets.A few gave her polite nods of acknowledgement, but others ignored her entirely, intent on getting where they needed to go and out of the crisp chill of winter.She paid them no mind, though, her thoughts elsewhere, some place far away and familiar, safe and ordinary.

Winter had always been her favorite of the seasons.Spring meant early mornings and late nights as she helped her father prepare for the endless stream of requests for flower arrangements, bouquets, and viable seeds.Summer was much the same, with the added pleasure of scorching heat and thick, damp air that left her dripping with sweat.It wasn’t until fall came along that she was able to breathe a little easier.The air cooled, the days shortened, and, slowly but surely, the leaves began to turn and fall from the boughs that had been their home, littering the trails she knew so well with shades of red, orange, and brown.

But winter had always held a special place in her heart.It meant months of sitting around the hearth with a mug of hot tea in hand, wrapped in soft fur blankets made by her mother when she was a child.It meant days of sledding down the hill just outside of town, her friends doubled over in laughter as one of them slid straight into the bare trunk of a tree at its base.It meant lazy, gray mornings spent under a comforter reading books from her father’s modest library, the single candle at her bedside only just enough to illuminate the words on the yellowing pages.

Most people dreaded winter.It was cold, dark, and bleak—like the hand of death itself had closed around the land, trapping all those who resided there within its terrible grasp.But what everyone always forgot, no matter how many winters they faced, was that life always bloomed anew a mere few months after the frost descended upon them, that winter was not the end, as so many seemed to believe.

To Cassandra, it had always been a time of joy and renewal, a clean slate on which to start the next year anew, and this year would be no different.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

Pulling her pine green cloak tighter around her shoulders, Cassandra wandered the streets heading toward the vacant town square, watching as flurries continued to drift from the slowly darkening sky in gentle swirls.It wasn’t often that she was able to stay in a town for more than a few days, but the recent cold and snow gave her an excuse to stick around for a little while longer, and she was more than grateful for it.For a week now, there were no monsters snarling at her from the shadows, no goblins cackling and throwing makeshift spears in her general direction, no orcs roaring as they charged at her with their blades poised to slice into her flesh.

And, most freeing of all, the Dungeon Master had yet to show himself in any capacity since she set foot in the town.

Cassandra shuddered, fighting the urge to glance over her shoulder as she continued down the worn, cobblestone streets.No, not now.He wasn’t going to ruin this fragment of peace she had finally secured for herself after so long, especially when she knew he wasn’t there.There was no prickling along her skin, no tightness at the back of her neck, no cold, sharp claws digging into the back of her mind, pulling her toward a stranger with a vaguely familiar face.All was silent, calm, and free of his influence.It was her first taste of freedom in years, and, by all the gods that presided over this plane of existence, she would enjoy every last second of it.

The absence of the Dungeon Master’s ever looming shadow had been far from freeing at first, though.It was unnerving.Frightening, even.Akin to that nagging feeling that she had forgotten something very important, and her carelessness would come back to bite her at any moment.She had grown so accustomed to his presence, the familiar pull toward a local merchant, or the hair raising shift in the air as he watched her from afar, that the lack of it was downright alarming.For years now, the Dungeon Master had been a constant in her life—however unwelcome he may have been—but for him to leave her unattended without even so much as word of warning… it was enough to set her nerves on edge for the first few days, constantly looking over her shoulder, waiting for the other inevitable shoe to drop. 

But it never came. 

Cassandra’s footfalls were soft and light as she approached the town square, the streets empty save for a select few merchants packing up their wares for the day, the slowly encroaching darkness signaling the end of any viable business.A tranquil hush had fallen over the square, the kind that only a gentle snowfall at dusk could provide, an occasional gust of wind whistling through the narrow streets and alleyways the only sound to pierce it.She smiled, pulling down the hood of her cloak as she looked up toward the sky, opening her mouth in an attempt to catch one of the snowflakes on her tongue, something she had not done since she was a child. 

She could get used to this.

“If you could only see how foolish you look right now,” an all too familiar voice drawled from behind her, each word laced with barely suppressed amusement. 

Cassandra froze, snapping her mouth shut with an audible _click_ of her teeth.She hardly managed to stifle a groan as she continued to glare up at the slate colored sky, wishing that there was a god out there she could curse.

Well, that other shoe had to drop eventually.

“Did it ever occur to you that, perhaps, I don’t care however foolish I look?”She dusted the flurries off of her hair before pulling her hood back up, her cheeks burning a bright pink as a sudden wave of self-consciousness washed over her.“Where have you been?”

A deep chuckle drifted toward her on the frigid winter breeze, the dull crack of snow beneath boots reaching her ears as he made his way toward her.“Concerned for me, dearest?I’m touched.And here I thought you were rather indifferent to my well-being.”

“Actually, I was hoping that someone had finally succeeded in driving a silver tipped stake into your black heart,” she said flatly, turning to face the hooded figure of the Dungeon Master.“But I see my hopes were in vain, as usual.”

The corner of his thin lips twitched upward in a haughty half-smile, a short laugh rumbling from beneath his purple robes as he shook his head, his hood swaying slightly with the movement.“You wound me.I suppose _my_ hopes that a little distance would be beneficial to our relationship were in vain as well.” 

“A pity.”Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest, the urge to tap her foot impatiently almost too strong to resist.“I’m guessing disappointment isn’t something you’re particularly used to.”

“On the contrary,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back as he stepped forward, moving to stand next to her on the edge of the town square.“Especially where you’re concerned.You are a constant source of disappointment in my life.”

She shifted uneasily on her feet, her stomach a twisted mess of anxiety, a feeling she had not missed in the least.“I was hoping to be the only source of disappointment.”

She felt more than she saw his gaze shift to her, his eyes ever hidden in the shadow of his hood.“You aim rather high, don’t you?”

“Why are you here?” she finally snapped, the muscles in her shoulders rigid with sudden tension.“Has a local farmer lost his cattle to mysterious, night prowling creatures?Or maybe an expectant mother is having night-terrors about her upcoming birth?Or is there a dragon that needs slaying in some nearby cave?" 

“Not yet, my dear, we need to build up to that sort of climax,” he said, a disturbingly casual air about his words.“Besides, there’d be no fun in warning you ahead of time.”

A sharp shiver shot up her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.There was no way of knowing whether or not he was joking, and part of her wanted to continue to live in blissful ignorance.“Answer the question.”

The Dungeon Master sighed, reaching up to brush away the few snowflakes that had accumulated on his gold trimmed, violet cloak.“Am I not allowed to check in on my favorite young adventurer?Someone needs to ensure that sharp tongue of yours hasn’t been tragically ripped from your mouth.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes at him, her jaw set. “And here I was hoping you had finally grown bored of me.”

“Of _you_ , darling?” he scoffed.“Never." 

“I’m just surprised you’d risk showing up here without your mask.”She nodded toward the desolate town square, the faint glow from street lamps and shop windows their only light as night fell upon them.The continued snowfall meant there would be no stars, no moon tonight.It made her feel more vulnerable than she cared to admit, as if the gods themselves were blind to whatever happened beneath the cluster of clouds.She shuddered, her hand unconsciously running along her forearm and the faint scars she knew resided under her sleeve.“You’re never this bold.Makes me think there’s something rather unpleasant coming my way.”

“Paranoia never did suit you.”He was closer now, close enough that she could see the slightest glint of his ice-blue eyes beneath the shadow of his hood.It wasn’t much, but enough that she could tell his gaze did not meet her own, but had drifted down to where her fingers caressed her forearm.She immediately stopped, tucking her arms underneath the cloth of her pine green cloak, the same cloak she had been gifted after a hellish night in the woods all those months ago, and his gaze snapped back up once more, his expression unreadable.“Besides, you’ve made it quite clear how much you despise my many other faces.And you are never quite so honest as you are when I appear to you as myself.”

She remembered a kind elf, with hair as black as the night sky and a smile bright enough to dampen the most luminous star.He had been the first bit of hope that she may not have to do this alone, that she might have some sense of normalcy amid the chaos of her new life—but he had been a lie, as most good things she came across turned out to be, whose face had been nothing more than another mask. 

“At least I know what to expect,” she ground out, unable reign in her bitterness, “and that paranoia has a definitive source.”

“With an attitude like that, you’ll never find yourself a party to share in your adventures with,” he said, an aloofness to his voice that sounded almost artificial.“Who knows how many potential allies you’ve chased off with that sort of talk.”

“Stop avoiding the question.”She stopped just short of adding a desperate _please_.She’d be damned if she was going to start this night off begging him for anything, much less a simple response.No matter how badly she just wanted to get this over with.“If you’re here for entertainment, just come out and say it.Don’t drag this out.”

“Is this not already entertainment enough?”He spread his arms wide, a mocking smile playing upon his lips.“I didn’t realize how very much I missed that mouth of yours until I was deprived of it.”

“Lucky me,” Cassandra sighed, a dull headache beginning to form behind her eyes as she reached up to pinch at the bridge of her nose.“Had I known that a lengthy exchange of veiled insults was all it took to entertain you, I could have saved myself a lot of pain these past few years.”

“Unfortunately for you, my dear, my taste is as fickle as the tides.”His tone was light, conversational, but with an undercurrent that left her mouth dry.“But let’s not spoil this night with talk of what is to come.”

“This night was spoiled the moment you appeared at my back,” she muttered, earning her a deep, rumbling chuckle from the Dungeon Master.She didn’t know if she should be relieved or annoyed that her words earned his amusement rather than his ire. 

“Is that so?” he mused, glancing around them.“I would have thought this dreary place to be the cause.Honestly, how did you manage to survive a week here without going absolutely mad with boredom?”

She went quiet, looking down at her feet as she fidgeted with the frayed hem of her cloak.It had done its job well enough, keeping her warm as the seasons changed from early fall to the dead of winter, but she needed to buy a new one soon, if only to rid herself of an unnecessary link to him.

“It’s nice here,” she said finally, her voice small, hesitant.“The people are nice.They didn’t mind having an outsider stick around for a bit.A rarity in these small towns.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the Dungeon Master stiffen, but he remained silent, watching her.

“It was a nice change of pace,” she continued, shrugging half-heartedly as she looked out at the empty merchant stalls.“Hot food, warm beds, a general reprieve from the usual chaos I have to deal with.It felt like—” 

But she stopped short, her tongue unwilling to form that last word, unwilling to allow it to pass through her lips. _Home_.Thinking it was hard enough, but she feared that to say it out loud would break her, shattering the fragile armor she hid behind, leaving her open and vulnerable to his insatiable cruelty.She willed the tears rimming her eyes to recede, struggling to speak around the hard lump in her throat.“It was just nice.”

The Dungeon Master hummed, the leather of his glove creaking slightly as he flexed his hand.“You would grow bored eventually.They all do.You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself without my guiding hand.”

A hollow laugh burst forth from her lips, echoing harshly off the old woodwork of the surrounding buildings.“I managed pretty well in a town like this my entire life.I think I would be happy enough.”

“A shame that you have no say in the matter.”His tone was casual, conversational, even, but the words themselves were sharp and hard, with a peculiar undertone she couldn’t quite place.“Then again, you mortals hardly ever know what’s best for you, isn’t that right?" 

She snorted, blinking away the tears that blurred her vision as she brought her hands up to her mouth, her breath warm and welcoming on her stiff fingers.“Of course.Why do you think we worship gods?They tell us what is best for us, and sometimes they stick their noses where they don’t belong and send us off on adventures far from the warmth of our beds.” 

“That’s awfully specific,” he said.“It sounds as if you’ve had experience with such gods.”

“Oh, you know us simple village folk,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.“We love our myths and legends.They help us find a sense of purpose.”

“How fortunate for you, then,” he purred, “to have found me.”

Cassandra’s forearm itched, her fingers twitching with the need to scratch at the scarred skin.“Yeah.Fortunate.”

If the Dungeon Master caught the bitterness in her tone, he said nothing of it.“You’ve been out here for a while, dear.It would do you no good to catch your death in some backwater town, not after how far you’ve come.”

“I’ve experienced worse.”She reached up to brush the snowflakes from her shoulders, the once light flurries now larger and falling with more frequency.“As I’m sure you know.”

“And you’re better for it.”He said it with such sincerity that she would have almost thought he meant it if she didn’t know any better.He reached a gloved hand out toward the very edge of her hood, his fingers running along the hem with an almost reverent touch.“I always thought this cloak suited you best.”He paused, as if considering something, wrestling with some thought he wasn’t quite sure he wished to voice, before he let his hand drop back to his side, stepping back from her with his telltale smirk in place.“I’m glad you decided to keep it.”

Before she could even register his words, the Dungeon Master stooped into a low bow, his violet cloak billowing out behind him like the swell of the open sea as he vanished in a swirl of black mist, leaving her alone beneath the dark winter sky.She grasped at the simple metal clasp holding the cloak around her shoulders, the metal so cold it almost seemed to burn the flesh of her fingertips, the acidic tang of bile creeping up the back of her throat. 

Bastard.Complete and utter _bastard_.

As if she hadn’t wanted to be rid of the damned thing before, she’d give anything to set the cloth ablaze at that very moment.The mere feeling of the thick, soft fabric against her skin was enough to make her dry-heave, the pungent smell of death and decay overwhelming her senses, the sickening crunch of a hellhound’s bones echoing in her ears, the sensation of the fine leather of his gloved hand wrapping around her neck, the unnatural heat he emitted still as vivid as it was that night.

A single, wracking sob escaped her throat.

Damn him.Damn him to hell and back.

Cassandra clutched at the clasp, her chest heaving with each breath she forced into her lungs.In and out.In and out.In and out.He would not win this.He would not get the final word.He would not break her. 

It took a moment, but her breathing settled, her nose and throat burning from the icy, dry air.She could get rid of the cloak.Rip it off her shoulders right now and leave it to be buried under the thick, wet snow that now fell from the coal black sky.But she thought of that smirk, that mocking, parting bow as he was whisked away to whatever plane he called his home.Nothing brought him more amusement than her torment, and to leave the cloak for the gutter rats and beggars was to let him win.

With a shaky, reluctant sigh, she released her hold on the clasp, her palm marred with angry red lines from where the edges of the metal had dug into her skin.She would get a new one soon, maybe once spring came around and she was in need of a lighter material.But not because of him.Never because of him.

A gust of biting wind blew through the town square, the snowfall growing heavier with each passing moment, signaling that it was high time she headed back to the inn she had called home for the last week.Pulling the dark green cloak tighter around her shoulders, she set off, carefully wading through the now ankle deep snow, keenly aware of her skin prickling with the familiar sensation of being watched


End file.
